What Dreams May Come

The last 24 hours have been a long set of extremely anxious minutes and seconds. I am feeling restlessly artistic, longingly expressive, ecstatic with life, and pensively depressed all at the same time. I don't know if I've ever felt this way before. I think I think too much about a lot of things.

I had the strangest dream. I often have the strangest dream (no, not the same one. Different ones, silly). It began with me being outside in the early evening, when dusk is setting in and you can make out the moon in the sky. I was in some dirt yard, not unlike that of my school, but the city I occupied was a Gothic dream. I don't know why all the cities I have dreams about are so Gothic. I think subconsciously I believe Gothic architecture to be among the most darkly haunting and beautiful architecture out there. Anyway, I looked up at the moon, and slowly it started moving. Swaying back and forth. Eventually it fanned out like a pendulum and gained momentum, swinging across the evening sky quickly. This movement was too much for the poor moon, and massive piles of dust and surface eventually began falling off of it until the shrinking moon disappeared.

The dust that was formerly the moon had nowhere to go but to enter Earth's orbit and eventually atmosphere, catching aflame in its first breath of air. It was too much dust, though, and it continued to fall at various places around the Earth. My current Gothic metropolis was, of course, one of the places a massive dirt pile landed. The dirt's hard landing created a rumble and destroyed many buildings and lives.

With the moon now gone, the Earth's rotation was subsequently thrown off and things began getting weird. A strong wind picked up (maybe because we were going through space faster? I don't know, it was a dream. You can't control the lack of physics or whatever) and started sending houses (full, intact houses, mind you) floating into the air. There were many just floating down the streets like a lazy river ride at an amusement park. My first thought, as I recovered from the stun of the dust landing, was to find my family and then to watch the news, if there was any, about what was happening. When my mother floated by in her house (some Victorian style thing), we chatted for a minute as though that were a normal thing to do, I established that everyone was ok, and then continued on, looking for a place to see the news. I began walking in the wind a little too nonchalantly for the present situation.

I eventually reached the staggeringly beautiful ruins of a church. I stopped to stare at it and take a picture for just long enough to have my environment change to something resembling Southeast D.C. at night. Naturally, some hoodlums began harassing me. I quickly walked away, trying to not aggravate the situation and eventually noticed that the leader of the posse had stolen my camera. For some reason, I was more upset at this than at the world ending. When I began talking to some gas station attendant looking guy about how I needed to buy a new camera, my alarm went off and awoke me for Monday morning.

The work day came and went, and although I thought I would dread it, I actually ended up enjoying it, and notably enjoying the afternoon. It was one of those therapeutic afternoons where we planned a couple of games and made materials.

I got home and played guitar for nearly two hours. I realized it is time to begin the next art project. I am going to go buy a canvas right now. I'll be back in an hour. No boys while I'm gone. You're on your own for dinner. Ok, kisses. Bye.